Just a kiss
by verybadidea
Summary: Salieri couldn't find a single soul Mozart hadn't kissed. Not one. No one but him.


_**Notes:**_

_I wrote this a couple of years ago, and never posted it because English isn't my native language (and I don't have any beta reader)._  
_But time has passed, and I thought, why not?_

_If you like this, I have a couple more sweet stories laying around!_

* * *

It happened once again.

At first, Salieri thought it was just a coincidence.

The first time it happened, he witnessed Mozart kiss La Cavalieri. He would have usually thought they were in some kind of relationship, but the cantatrice's shocked face followed by Mozart kissing _Stephanie _a few seconds later made him conclude that it was just another one of Mozart's eccentricities.

A few weeks later, Mozart was celebrating the success of one of his representation. The audience had been in awe, a few important people had been congratulated him for the longest time, now. Salieri... happened to be here too. He was watching them from afar, trying to not be noticed. He couldn't stop but look at Mozart's wide smile and shiny eyes every time someone was giving him a compliment. One man told him something (_oh, how he wished he knew what_) and the composer laughed loudly, throwing his head backward. But the short smack that followed was unexpected. Mozart then turned around, grabbed a drink from a waitress and kissed her as well, before taking off. Both her and the man were left bewildered, wondering if they had dreamed.

The last straw happened during an argument between Rosemberg and Mozart. Salieri didn't want to interfere, the intendant was furious enough for both of them. And he didn't like seeing sadness and hostility on Mozart's face. Joy was suiting him much better. But after the longest monologue that Rosemberg ever started, Salieri saw in horror Mozart grab the small man's face and kissed him forcefully. That turned out to be actually very efficient to quiet Rosemberg.

Soon, Salieri couldn't find a single soul Mozart hadn't kissed. Not one.

No one but him.

He couldn't stand this situation anymore. He was dreaming of these lips, of the warmth of the contact. He was waking up all sweaty, feeling tired, a bitter taste in his mouth. In the mornings, he felt heartbroken, not knowing why, but then remembered the thoughts obsessing his mind all day long.

He had to do something about it or he would end up crazy.

* * *

"Mozart!"

The man stopped at the door and turned around, his face lighting up at the sight of Salieri. He went towards him.

"Maestro! How can I help you?"

Mozart stopped in front of him, close enough for them to touch.

"I need to talk to you."

"Of course."

"I—"

The words came empty. Mouth dry and mind numb, Salieri hadn't the courage to tell the words. And he was lost in the man's eyes anyway.

"Yes?" Mozart encouraged him, still smiling (_why was he smiling all the time?) _

"I was wondering—" He coughed, uncomfortable.

The composer was patiently waiting. Salieri shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and finally sighed. There was no way he could tell him. "No, never mind."

Mozart frowned, joyfully. "Tell me!"

"It's not that important."

"Coming from you, I'm sure it is."

"I shouldn't have bothered you."

"Tell me, Maestro!"

"I—" He looked away. "I was wondering if you knew how to fix a piano string. One broke and I can't find someone to fix it."

Mozart stayed silent. A silence so long that Salieri turned his head back at him. The intensive stare Mozart was giving him cut his breath. It was as if it was piercing his soul.

"I'm sorry it worried you," Mozart finally said, very softly.

Salieri's throat went dry. "The piano string? Yes, it… it's troublesome."

"And you shouldn't worry about it."

"I can't really help it."

"I just didn't want you to think you were like the others."

Were they still talking about the piano string?

"Because you're not," Mozart continued. "I want it to be special with you."

Salieri was getting more and more confused, but he asked anyway: "Will you help me, then?"

The next thing he knew was Mozart leaning in and pressing his lips against his.

_Finally._


End file.
